


Full Moon On the Rise

by Besin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU One-Shots, Canon-Compliant One-Shots, Engagement, Fluff, M/M, Minor Arson, Mixed AUs, Referenced Spouse Abuse, Scenting, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Valentine One-Shots written for some very awesome Tumblr users. Among them are:</p><p>Stiles' and Derek's Grand Adventures in Babymaking<br/>Stiles spills coffee on The Hot Man in Booth Four.<br/>Cora convinces Derek to make up with Stiles... through song?<br/>Stiles breaks a world record and gets a date.<br/>Stiles and Derek have the Strangest Rivalry Ever.<br/>Stiles and the Immortal Virginity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions for Really Big Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for IWasATeenageWerewolf on Tumblr.

Stiles had never been very good an introducing himself. People in general weren’t his strong suit. He was a hermit at best and a social outcast at worst, so it was safe to say that he wasn’t going to introduce himself to the hot guy sitting in the corner of the coffee shop every other Tuesday working on his laptop.

“Just say something!” Allison, Scott’s girlfriend, insisted every time the man was mentioned. “Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t do anything.”

Oh, Stiles was aware of this. Very, very aware of this. And still he did nothing, because the man in the coffee shop, while attractive and generally interesting-looking, always had a scowl on his face that kind of said, “I will rip your balls off if you interrupt me.” And so Stiles continued doing nothing. Until he had to do something, that is, and that something consisted of apologizing for tripping over his own shoelaces and spilling coffee all over the attractive stranger’s shirt. In that moment he wanted to melt into the ground; disappear; die and go to hell, because Hell was preferable to the pure anger on the man’s face. Oh, the anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

When Stiles escaped, balls intact despite the fury that had been pointed his way, he tried not to marvel too much at the fact that the man had just… sat there. Kind of looked at him with rage and murdurous intent and… did nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, _OH GOD HE DID NOTHING_. This tore at Stiles. Killed him, really. It killed him how interesting the man is. The sheer amount of introversion the man contained was almost godly.

So the next time he was near the man he sidled up and offered to buy him coffee. The man fixed him with a stare -- heavy on the eyebrows -- and asked, “Why?”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, I do owe you for your shirt yesterday.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Nothing a few hours in baking soda couldn’t fix.”

Stiles blinked curiously, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he man would actually attempt to salvage his shirt. “Oh,” he mumbled, and made to retreat. But then he realized he’d never get a chance to approach the man ever again, braced himself, turned on his heel and blurted out, “Can I buy you coffee anyway?”

The man blinked curiously. “Why?” he asked again, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

“Because you’re really quiet and I think you could be really interesting and -- Jesus, I’m babbling-”

“Okay.”

Stiles froze. Blinked. Looked up. “Huh?”

The man shrugged and offered his hand to shake. “My name’s Derek.”

A warmth puddled in Stiles’ stomach, working its way up through his lungs, his throat, and then to his face. Taking the offered hand, he shook it with a nervous grin. “Stiles,” he chokes out after a second. “My friends call me Stiles.”


	2. Stop Making This so COMPLICATED!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cora is a terrible sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ca-Mi-Lla on Tumblr.

Sometimes Derek wonders what would have happened if his family had died in the fire Kate had lit once upon a time. Because if his family had died then his sister wouldn’t be blasting some stupid pop song over the speakers in her room, screaming along to the lyrics that she had picked out especially to piss him off.

“Why’d you have to go and makes things so Complicated!” she screamed. “I see the way you-”

He tried to drown her out, to pretend she wasn’t there, but it didn’t work. Pounding on her door, he yanked on the knob to let himself in and screamed, “TURN IT DOWN.”

Cora shook her head at him, dancing along to the music as she shouted back, “NOT UNTIL YOU MAKE UP WITH STILES.”

He growled, stepped past her, and unplugged the speakers. He turned on her, two parts fury, one part annoyance. “What happened between me and Stiles-”

“Stiles and I,” she corrected.

“-is none of your business and you have no right to harass me like this.”

“I have every right,” she argued, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You act all high and mighty with your basketball buddies -- like nothing can touch you -- and don’t ever bother stepping in when they treat Stiles like shit. You’re a terrible boyfriend, you know that?”

“If they knew-” he begins, only to be cut off.

“They won’t treat him any different than they already do. So stop being selfish and come out already, okay? And I know you agreed not to come out yet, but we both know he only agreed to it because you don’t want to.”

Derek frowned. “I don’t-”

“Call him,” she insisted. “Call him and ask if he wants to come out, okay? Just ask him.”

The boy frowned, then stepped out of the room. What did his sister know about relationships? Not much, probably. But going by the way she turned the music right back on after he left the room, she wasn’t going to stop harassing him any time soon. Giving a resigned sigh, Derek stepped outside, pulled out his phone, and called his Stiles. It rang a few times, then the familiar voice of his boyfriend floated over the line.

“ _Derek, hey. What’s up_?”

Derek fidgeted and decided to get straight to the point. “Do you want to come out?” He could almost hear Stiles blinking.

“ _What, like, to the school_?”

“Yeah.”

An almost visible shrug followed. “ _Well, yeah. I thought we already addressed that. But you’re not ready so it’s best not to_.”

Derek’s mouth went dry. He didn’t… how was he supposed to RESPOND to something like that?

“ _Derek? Derek, are you okay_?”

Snapping out of it, he cleared his throat and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then there was the smile -- the one he could almost feel depite the fact that they were on the _phone_ and it made  _no sense_. “ _I want you to know there’s no pressure, okay_?”

Derek nodded, only to realize Stiles couldn’t see him. “Yeah, no pressure,” he mumbled quietly. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Stiles laughed. “ _Silly. I love you_.”

Derek grinned. “I love you to.” They hung up, and the boy groaned, leaning against the wall and burying his face in his arms. He really hated life sometimes.


	3. Victory with a Cop Out Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Luminous-Like-A-Fairy on Tumblr.

No one seemed to care that Stiles had broken the world record for tallest stack of paper towels folded into origami cranes. Granted, Stiles wouldn’t really give a shit either, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want recognition for it. He had spent a good chunk of his time on that pile, and he wanted more than a handshake and a mention in the Book of World Records 2014. Like a date. Or a hug.

Anything would have been preferable to the grumpy reporter who had shown up on his doorstep with a camera and a bad sense of humor, looking at the pile like it was the source of all the world’s problems. For all that Stiles knew, it was. “I don’t envy your life,” was the first thing out of the man’s mouth, because hey -- the pile was well over fifty feet high and held together with honey.

In all fairness, Stiles had no life to envy. He went to school, came home, played video games, and folded cranes out of paper towels because they were cheaper than paper and he had nervous fingers. It was something his doctor had suggested -- Origami -- to keep him occupied when he was a kid. And thus the 60,000 paper cranes had been folded and set into place with makeshift glue. And by glue he of course meant honey, because glue is expensive and as long as the paper towels didn’t get wet everything would be fine. Which the reporter -- Derek, apparently -- was not amused by.

“Why honey?” he’d demanded rather than asked, very much not amused, when Stiles had admitted to the adhesive.

“Honey was more available than glue,” Stiles admitted nervously. Seriously, the reporter was hot. The last thing he wanted to do was point out to the guy that he was a poor college student would couldn’t afford elmers glue and had instead gone with raiding his neighbors kitchen for the last two years for supplies. Legally speaking, the pile didn’t even belong to him.

The reporter gave him a look -- like, “Okay, great, how the hell am I going to make this article actually worth reading?” -- and rolled his eyes. Again. He seemed to have an affinity for it, considering he didn’t look like an idiot when he did it. “How long did it take you to make this…” He trailed off, then didn’t bother to finish his sentence. “And what are you studying?”

“Two years,” Stiles replies easily, grinning stupidly. “And I’m a criminal justice major.”

Derek seemed surprised by this. “You want to be a cop?” he gaped, dragging his eyes from Stiles to the monstrosity, then went back and forth twice.

“Well yeah. Origami is just a hobby to help me focus. Comes in handy in college. My dad’s a sheriff, so I’m a bit biased toward law enforcement.”

The reporter actually looks impressed at this, and after the interview (though brief) is done he hands Stiles a card and winks. “Give me a call sometime”

And after he leaves Stiles falls to the ground, knees weak, because _WHAT? NO. THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN. HOW? HE DID NOT SEE THAT COMING._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even know where to go with this. Thus the ending. *Laughs nervously.*


	4. Oh, Look, Almost Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For DefinitelyAHaleWolf on Tumblr.  
> Semi-explicit content in this chapter, folks!

Stiles had to admit -- whatever rivalry they had going on was strange. One of the strangest things he’d ever been part of, really. Strange, strange, strange. Because honestly -- who in their right mind has masturbation parties in their living room and tries to last longer than the other person?

Apparently Derek fucking Hale.

Well, he wouldn’t exactly have ‘parties.’ It was kind of just the two of them. Beating it. In Derek’s apartment. Every other Tuesday. And two days after the full moon. “Mixed signals” would not even begin to cover the complexity of the situation. One moment Derek’s whispering something dirty in Stiles’ ear, the next he’s throwing him out on his ass without a word. Sometimes without giving him the chance to close the barn door.

Stiles had no idea why he kept going back. Maybe it had something to do with his drive to outlast Derek. Or maybe his desire to see the man undone. (Which was quite a sight.) But he had a feeling it had more to do with the look in Derek’s eyes when he came -- the way his gaze lingers on Stiles until he was done; expression almost adoring. And wasn’t that a dangerous thought?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short. *Grimace*


	5. Learning to Cope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TheOneAndOnlyZoe on Tumblr.

For Derek the AA meetings with his sister were not necessary. They were pointless. He didn’t need them; he didn’t need people; he didn’t need to be there. He didn’t drink all that often, and when he did it was a measured amount.

“It's not that,” Laura would tell him. “You’re not here because you drink; you’re here because you’ve been hurt by those who have.”

As if divorcing Kate hadn’t been bad enough.

At the meetings this Isaac guy wouldn’t shut up about his father. About how he had hit him, hurt him, trapped him in a fridge and left him there for days. Erica would talk about her addiction, missing her father, and wanting a life beyond her seizures. Boyd was lonely; would drink and drink and drink until there wasn’t anything left. And Derek?

Derek didn’t have anything. Kate was crazy, his family was dead, and the only person left in his life was Laura. Wonderful, beautiful, overbearing Laura who refused to leave him alone and insisted he go to these meetings because Kate couldn’t seem to put a bottle down while they were together. That’s when the new guy came. The guy who dragged his father in by his belt and talked about a woman who had been dead for six years. The guy who would show up even when his father didn’t to tell them about how his father was slowly but surely drowning himself without the aid of water. And this guy? His name was Stiles.

The first time Derek saw him he likened the man’s eyes to whisky. A bright, deep, overwhelming brown that bored through him to the other side and made him wonder what he was doing with his life. Three months. Three months was all it took for Derek to take that seat beside the man with whiskey eyes and realize how badly he needed the AA meetings, because when Stiles asked about his life, Derek answered.

Derek talked about his marriage. About his ex-wife. About how she needed the bottle. About how when he tried to get her to put it down, she sometimes put it down on him. He talked about when she snapped: the fire, and the pain, and the fact that he didn’t have anyone but his sister any more. And halfway through his first attempt at sharing Stiles’ hand came down on his shoulder.

It sat there, warmer than anything he’d felt for a long while, and Derek looked into his eyes as the story of the disaster spilled out. All the while he couldn’t help but think about the possibility of being a sort of alcoholic, because there’s no way he would have made it through the meeting without those whiskey eyes. And when the meeting disbanded he slipped his hand over Stiles’ and smiled.

“Do you feel better?” he’d asked, squeezing Derek’s shoulder in a show of concern, earning himself a weak smile.

“Yes,” Derek replied, meeting the man’s eyes with a sense of confidence he hadn’t felt in a long while. “My name’s Derek.”

The man with the whiskey eyes blinked, his cheeks blushed, and his mouth split in a wide grin. “I’m, uh, I’m Stiles.”


	6. Let's Get Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For FadingIce on Tumblr.

“Stiles, you’re obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed. I’m concerned.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Concerned. There’s a difference.”

Heaving a sigh, Derek collapsed back onto Stiles’ bed and tried not to groan. The boy had spent the last six hours looking up Slavic legends, and was convinced that the whole issue he was having with his Chemistry teacher was due to a “Spoiling.” Whatever that was. “Stiles, there’s no way someone could have measured your footprint in this weather.”

“He could have cut the footprint out of the mud-”

“You’re chemistry teacher isn’t a Polish Wizard!”

“You don’t have to be Polish to be a wizard, Derek! That’s racist!”

Burying his face in his hands, Derek groaned. “I cannot believe you sometimes. I just can’t.”

“You love me,” Stiles giggled, turning his eyes away from his laptop to linger over his boyfriend’s sweaty form. “Were you running before you came over here?”

“I was working out,” Derek hissed. “I was under the impression that I wouldn’t get a chance later tonight.”

The boy frowned at this, eyebrows drawn together in his confusion. “What gave you that idea?”

Nothing could have spared him from Derek’s glare after the man’s hands dropped. “I hate you right now.”

“What?” “You little sack of shit. Do you have any idea what today is?”

“Uh -- Friday?” The werewolf groaned.

“I’m dating an idiot.”

“Excuse me, an idiot wouldn’t be able to figure out that their teacher was a Wizard.”

“He is not a wizard!”

“He is! I know he is! There’s no other explanation!”

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Derek hopped off the bed and made for the window.

Stiles flinched. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Derek shrugged. “Out. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go bother Scott and Kira. They’re usually too awkward around each other to complain about a third wheel.”

“What are you talking about? Seriously!”

The werewolf paused in front of the window, fingers lingering over the sill before he peeled them back, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small red package, which he tossed at Stiles with a grimace. “Happy Valentines Day, stupid,” he scoffed, leaning against the sill with grim satisfaction. He fought back a grin when Stiles fumbled to catch the package, nearly dumping his laptop over the edge of the bed and onto the floor in the process.

Turning the package over in his hands carefully, Stiles looked at the small heart-shaped candy box carefully, eyes wide, before glancing up at his boyfriend with a mix of confusion and guilt. “Shit, I totally forgot.” “I noticed.” They were quiet for a long time before Stiles pursed his lips and closed his laptop. “No more research tonight,” he announced quietly.

Derek grinned. “Good.”

The boy dropped his gaze to the mattress, suddenly shy. “Yeah. Uh, good.”

Settling beside his boyfriend, the werewolf slid his hand across the comforter until he could curl his fingers over Stiles’. “Let’s go, stupid. You promised me dinner.”


	7. The "Immortal" Virginity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TheMagnificentScout on Tumblr.

Stiles got this idea into his head when he was sixteen that eternity would literally come to an end before he lost his virginity. Not a particularly happy thought is it? Oh, yes, halfway through his Sophomore years of High School one young Mr. Stilinski became aware of his mortality and realized that, oh, he wasn’t getting laid any time soon. His best friend was a werewolf after all. Nothing on Scott. Scott’s a great guy. Top notch. The best. A bro among bros. But still, his furry little problem left Stiles almost permanently both in the dust and in a perpetual state of “wingman.”

It must be taken of note that wingmen are not the ones to get laid. It’s kind of in their definition. So when Stiles gets his first kiss he’s hopeful. So incredibly hopeful. And then she dies. Yeah -- that was a downer.

It wasn’t until Junior year, after a rather enlightening moment with a very drunk, previously thought to be lesbian in the midst of a highly illegal dance, that it occurred to Stiles that his bad luck with women might not apply to men. And that he might actually be attracted to men. Maybe. Sort of? Possibly. He figured it was worth a try, seeing as all his kisses seemed to be linked to someone’s death.

Senior year was enlightening. After countless attempts to ask Danny out, and getting turned down an equally countless number of times, the boy was under the impression that men just did not find him attractive. And the women that did usually died. Or were just trying to get him to stop panicking and save everyone’s asses. And that’s really not cool.

Eternity as a virgin was looking promising.

College blew him right out of the water. Stiles would only deny his sudden sexual activity to his father. Everyone else was very aware of his eagerness to jump into bed with any man or woman who crooked a finger at him, or even in his general direction. He’d go to bars. He’d go dancing. He, eventually, even managed to catch Danny’s eye at a bar in his third year.

When Stiles returned home after college for good, the pack did not seem to appreciate his sexual awakening. Or, rather, Derek didn’t. “You smell like disease,” he’d said at one point, and Stiles had panicked.

“Wait, you can smell -- do I have an STD? Oh my god, I have an STD don’t I?”

Derek had looked him over, grimacing. “You don’t have anything; you just smell like… too much.” After that, every time they ran into each other Derek would come over to Stiles and take a deep breath before huffing and throwing his arm over the younger man’s shoulder.

“What’s that for?” Stiles would say every time, and Derek would always reply, “You reek.”

The younger man would laugh. “Then don’t come so close.”

Weeks, entire weeks, after this started Stiles mentioned it to Scott and the man had blown up. “He’s been scenting you? I knew it!” And apparently Derek was into Stiles and Stiles really didn’t know what to do about that information except for sit quietly in his chair while his best friend went on a long rant about how weird this was; how alien and strange and so very awesome at the same time.

This was about when Stiles started considering Derek as something other than an angry werewolf or a tragic victim of arson. And wow, would he like to hit that. Badly. He almost didn’t hear Scott whining about how Derek needed to get laid and oh, well, Stiles could definitely volunteer for that. Definitely.


	8. One Should Not Court Arson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For TheShe-WolfInside on Tumblr.

Setting Derek’s homework on fire was not something Stiles had planned on that morning, but when the opportunity presented itself… Well, it was easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission. Only it wasn’t, because Stiles had just set Derek’s homework on fire and, wow, it turned out that paper had taken six weeks to write and he was BEYOND DEAD.

“Stiles!” the boy barked, clutching his basketball like it was a lifeline. “Get over here RIGHT NOW.”

And Stiles got there because there was no hiding from a werewolf. Even Scott, who’d been turned at ten to cure his asthma and therefore was a werewolf too, wouldn’t have a chance against this guy. Strong, popular, smart, VINDICTIVE Derek. And Stiles had just set his Chemistry paper on fire.  _Stupid_.

“You wanna tell me why you did this?” Silence. “Well?” Stiles shrugged.

“Because I wanted to?” he attempted, earning himself a groan and an eye roll. “Okay, okay, so someone in third period dared me to do it, okay?”

“You torched 10% of my Chemistry grade on a dare?”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Stiles was a big fat dick. “Shit.”

“Shit is right you little fuck.”

After this, Stiles is maybe conned into helping him write the paper again. If “maybe” meant “definitely,” that is. Because he was. Every day after school is spent rewriting the monster of a paper -- twenty-eight pages of evil and strife that had apparently taken Derek six weeks… and took Stiles all of six hours. “You should thank me, you know,” he drawled, saving the paper. “I just saved you from submitting bullshit.”

“You know, I would if it weren’t for your apparent fascination with Arson.”

“Touche.”


	9. You Are More Than A Percentage... Sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For CadetPine on Tumblr. *Heart*

Derek was pretty sure an alarming amount of Stiles’ existence -- approximately 33% -- was made up entirely by luck and bullshit. It was the only possible way the boy could have possibly managed to get as far as he did in life. No boy, no matter how smart, should be able to be survive the situations Stiles came upon almost daily and pull through with a twitch and a goofy grin. As Derek saw it, Stiles was made up of the following. 33% aforementioned bullshit, 33% adderall, 33% social retardation, and 1% collateral damage. The first three traits, the ones that made up most of the boy’s interactions, were things that he found incredibly… No. Just no. But every time someone mentioned a mother -- any mother -- Stiles would get a look.

Collateral damage, as Derek liked to call it, was the one that resulted in an expression on the boy’s face that had the werewolf nearly in tears, because Stiles looked exactly like Derek did those first few years after the fire. It was alarming to find that the person in Beacon Hills most likely to relate to him emotionally was a teenaged virgin with ADHD and an oral fixation.

Stiles, on the other hand, thought Derek was a good 33% rage, 33% stubble, and 33% social retardation. Because honestly -- the guy didn’t really seem to get people. Things always had to be one way or the other. Though that did seem to be coming in handy as of late, seeing as he and Scott weren’t trying to get the guy arrested any more. The alpha actually trusted them over his girlfriend.

There was this pesky little 1% he couldn’t track down, though. He knew it had something to do with the fire; knew it had something to do with why Derek was the way he was. Sad. Lonely. Generally not fun. Stiles didn’t think it were possible, but the alpha seemed even more closed off when Cora was in the room. It didn’t make any sense.

Eventually Stiles just called it “Collateral Damage.” It was the look Derek got whenever someone mentioned the fire, or whenever Cora wasn’t looking. Or Scott. Sometimes Stiles would catch Derek’s gaze, and the man would slip into it. Occasionally, for a breathtaking instant, they’re on the same page without even meaning to be.

It’s the start of a mutual understanding, that 1%, but neither of them are aware of this. That they could be something so much more. Something so much better. Healthier, even. But such a thing would take 33% timing, 33% setting, 33% luck, and half their combined collateral damage. And really, that’s probably why Derek hadn’t worked out with anyone else before then. No one had that 1% collateral damage to share with him. Not willingly. But it was only a matter of time before they realized they couldn’t linger in it for much longer, and found the best way to forget is to remember with someone who knows where you come from


	10. Stiles' and Derek's Adventures in Babymaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek go about the Babymaking Business. (Told from the point of view of a camera.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Hale-Sterek-Stilinski on Tumblr. (This one's my favorite.)

Darkness.

“Stiles, you have to take off the lens cover.”

Clattering.

“I know, I know, it’s just -- I was getting to it?”

“Why are you getting the camera anyway?”

“I’m documenting this historic moment.”

Light. Colors. Blurred shapes and adjusting and a man sitting at a table looking over a stack of paper.

He grimaced at the camera.“What historic moment?”

Laughter, booming and for too close for the microphone to be clear.

Adjusting the focus so the facial hair of the man at the table was crystal clear -- specifically the facial hair -- Stiles shuffled about off camera as the visual swung from an overhead view to an angle on the table, looking up at the grumpy man with paperwork. “You know how some parents make a video of the night they conceived for their kids?”

“Why would anyone think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, it’s kinda like that.”

“No one wants to watch me fill out adoption papers.”

A man settled into the seat beside the papers, a galaxy of moles in his skin and a silly grin slapped across his face. “I wanna watch you fill out adoption papers, Der-bear.”

“Good for you, pooky.”

The moled man scrunched his nose up at this. “Don’t call me pooky.”

“Don’t call me Der-bear.”

“Why not?”

“My sister calls me that?”

“Then what should I call you?”

The stubbled man doesn’t dignify this with an answer. His partner leans further into frame, trailing his lips along his ear with a self-satisfied grin. “Derek?” he whispers huskily.

Suddenly, movement. The stubbled man jumps out of his seat, grabbing his husband and lifting him into the air so he could drag him off screen. Just before they exit the frame their lips meet, hungry and demanding. There is shuffling. Hushed whispers. A gasped, “I love you.” There is the squeaking of springs and the slam of a door before all is quiet once more.

Warning: Battery at 10%.

Warning: Battery at 5%.

Powering down.

Darkness.

 


	11. You Are My Valentine (Whether You Like It or Not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Captain-Snark on Tumblr.

Valentines Day -- or, as Stiles liked to call it, “Annual Soul Crushingly Aware of Singleness Day” -- had rolled around and Stiles found himself where he usually found himself every year without fail. At Scott’s. Except it was the full moon, so Scott was off with Isaac, Boyd, and Erica doing those weird nude runs through the woods that Stiles didn’t really understand. Nor did he want to. ( _“It’s a pack thing” my ass_.)

“Don’t you have someone you can spend time with?” Mrs. McCall had asked him, gearing up for a shift at work.

Stiles made a face. “Do you?”

“I have a kid. I get a free pass. You, sweetie, are 17 and therefore have no excuse. Go out there and sweep some lucky girl off her feet.”

“That would be a fantastic idea if that were actually possible.”

* * *

Stiles' second stop was to get some curly fries.

You shouldn’t judge him.

* * *

Stiles’ third stop was at Derek’s because… Well, he didn’t really know why. He’d had this thought that maybe Scott would be there instead of flashing forest creatures, or something like that, but the place was completely empty except for Mr. Sourwolf propped up on a pile of pillows against the couch staring at the TV like it had devoured his soul.

“What do you want, Stiles?” he’d asked, most definitely not pleased with the sudden company.

“Whoa, dude, did not expect you to be here,” the boy mumbled, closing the loft door behind him before stumbling further into the room. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, macking on some hot girl or scaring babies or… whatever you do when we’re not around?”

“I do this when you’re not around, thanks.” Waving one limp hand toward the TV, Derek shifted further into his pillow pile.

Stiles frowned, one eyebrow raising in honest confusion as he stepped further into the loft. “What? So you just sit around all day… watching movies?”

“A netflix subscription gets you a lot more than free movies; it serves as a great distraction.”

“So… you don’t have any plans for Valentines Day?”

“Stiles, my last two girlfriends were homicidal maniacs. What the fuck do you think?”

“Huh…” Stiles stepped up to the couch, resting his arms on the back and looking down at Derek with a grin. He leveled the man with a pointed finger. “My Valentine.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, threatening to scrunch together and become a sentient entity of their own. “You… want me to be your Valentine?”

Shaking his head enthusiastically, Stiles allowed his grin to reach shit-eating proportions as he insisted, “No, you _are_ my Valentine.”

“Stiles, it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just tell someone they’re your Valentine. You have to ask-”

“Do you want-”

“No,” the man deadpans. “No I do not.”

“Not even as a joke? C’mon, man-”

Derek grimaced. “Shut up.”

“-unless you have some aversion to it which, oh my god -- I just -- have you never had a Valentine before?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” the boy babbles. His hands start resting in all sorts of places: his head, his waist, the couch, his face, his neck, Derek’s shoulder. “Dude, come on, we’re going to dinner.”

The man glares. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’ve your first Valentine ever, so I’m gonna make it a good memory.”

“I’m not your -- you’re not my Valentine.”

Stiles grins. “Yeah, I am. And are you really going to say no to free food?”

And the odd part? Derek doesn’t. Whether or not he had fun, and whether or not his kissed Stiles’ cheek after -- when the kid dropped him off with a silly, crooked grin and a joke about how Derek was lovely company when he didn’t look homicidal -- is his own business.


	12. Be Mine Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of three for Hatta-Hare on Tumblr.

Stiles would always remember the rush of his first Valentine’s Day in Kindergarten. There were so many kids running everywhere, nearly knocking him over in their haste to get out of the classroom and into the hallway to exchange their cards and candies. It didn’t take him long for him to realize no one had anything for him. It was his first Valentines day, so he didn’t really know what that meant, but it still hurt. Claudia had insisted on an industrial size box of Valentines, and had taped little suckers to the inside of each and every one. They were pink and blue and orange with little hollow plastic sticks -- the kind that didn’t fall apart when you chewed them. Stiles had been handing these out for ten minutes to all his classmates, each and every one signed with the name of the kid they went to. The kids who didn’t even know his nickname.

Undeterred, Stiles went around handing out the candies. And in the end, when he found himself with an empty bag and an unmarked Valentine, he glanced around. Had he missed someone? No -- there was an extra. Mom had probably put it in there for him. Grinning, he went to rip off the candy and have it for himself, but was nearly blindsided by another kid running through the crowd. Frowning, he made his way to a wall.

And there he was -- the boy who would become a permanent fixture in his life. Stiles didn’t know this, of course. He simply bounded up, Valentine in hand and took a seat. Again, he went to tear the candy off, but something made him pause. Glancing up at the older boy -- a fifth grader going by how tall he was -- Stiles frowned. “Do you not have any Valentines, either?”

Surprised, the boy glanced down at the little Kindergarten kid with the bright orange lollypop and blank Valentine. His eyes narrowed at the sudden barrage of scent; the one his mother had told him about years before. Pack, but not pack. Home, but not. New, but so old it nearly hurt. And sweet. So incredibly sweet. He went to reach for the Valentine -- the one he had in his back pocket, but stopped. He’d been asked a question.

“No,” the older boy replied belatedly. “I don’t.” He watched in mild amusement as the Kindergartener turned his attention to his blank Valentine, shrugged, and then held it out to him with a grin.

“Here! This way you have one, too!” Just as the taller boy was about to take it, the younger boy panicked. “Wait, wait, wait -- what’s your name?” Snatching the Valentine back, Stiles dragged a sharpie out of his pocket.

“Derek, D-E-R-E-K,” the boy replied over the sound of the other students, watching amusedly as Stiles scribbled their names in the “to” and “from” boxes.

“Done!” the younger boy proclaimed, pocketing the sharpie and shoving the treat in the older boy’s hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Derek!” They grinned stupidly as the fifth grader unstuck the candy and shoved it in his mouth.

Reaching into his back pocket, Derek pulled out an old, faded sheet of folded paper with a bit of boxing around the edges and handed it to Stiles. “Happy Valentines Day.” He tried not to grin too big when Stiles took the paper like it was something precious, unfolding it to find a Wolf staring off the page with the words “You’re My Mate” in bold across the top.

He giggled, then hugged it to his chest. “Thanks!”

When Stiles got home that night he showed his mother, and she stared at him in shock. “Derek -- as in Derek Hale, from the family of werewolves?”

Stiles shrugged. “I dunno.”

She sighed. “Honey,” she called. “You should see this.”

Before long the Sheriff came in, sighing. “Yes darling?”

Claudia held up the Valentine. “Derek Hale gave this to Stiles.”

John blinked, read the card, glanced at Stiles, read the card again, and sighed. “Crap.”

 


	13. Be Mine Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Hatta-Hare's bunch.

“Why are you making a Valentine for Derek Hale?” Scott drawled, fidgeting in his seat. “He’s in High School.”

“Yeah, and I just -- don’t doubt me, okay?” Stiles defended, fingers working carefully to cut out the construction paper in the shape of the New York skyline.

“Doubt you? You’re a seventh grader making a Valentine for a High School Senior. A Senior who never smiles. I’m not going to doubt you -- I would _never_ doubt you. I'm just... I'm scared, okay?”

“Lighten up, okay? I’ve done it before.”

“In Kindergarten.”

“Shut up. It’s not a big deal.”

Scott worried at his bottom lip. “You know he’s the captain of the Basketball team, right? And Baseball, too, when it’s in season. And he’s a Hale. Werewolf family, you know? What makes you think he won't react... not positively?"

“Just a feeling, okay?” Stiles insisted, all barely-teen bravado and silly grins. “It’ll be fine.”

* * *

When Stiles showed up on the High School’s basketball court four days later, the day of, he didn’t hesitate to walk right into practice and call out Derek’s name. No one responded immediately, but when the scrimmage came to an end and everyone went to the bleachers for a drink of water Stiles walked up, completely fearless, and shoved the Valentine in the older boy’s face. To everyone’s utter astonishment, Derek broke into a big, toothy grin.

“Stiles,” he greeted. “It’s been a while.” Around them the basketball team stood in shock, not quite believing what was going on as this gangly little seventh grader with bad acne handed their captain a Valentine with a cutout of New York’s skyline and Derek held it like it was the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Happy Valentines day,” Stiles said, nodding his head smugly before turning on his heel and walking out. Scott watched the entire exchange with wide eyes from the door.

“How did you do that?” he asked, baffled. "That was so  _cool_."

Stiles just grinned. “Oh, come one, like you wouldn’t smile if you got a Valentine.” He strode out of the building, like as air, as his friend trailed after him in disbelief.

 


	14. Be Mine Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last bit, Hatta-Hare! I hope you liked them. *grin*

Derek was terrified.

“You’ll be fine,” Laura had told him flippantly at least a million times. “Even if everything goes horribly wrong Stiles will love you anyway.”

“Not helping,” Derek had insisted half a million times in reply, choosing to remain silent the rest of the time. He couldn’t do this. But he had to. But he couldn’t. But he had to.

Derek and his sister were cramped in a janitor’s closet, listening for footsteps in the hallway, preparing to ambush his boyfriend. Stiles and Derek had been dating for three years at that point, which had been a chore and a half just to get started. It had been fourteen years since Stiles had given him the Valentine on the Basketball court, and twenty-one since they met. Sometimes it felt like no time at all, and others felt like eternity. Derek was thirty-one. It was hard to believe, crouched beside a mop in a Janitor’s closet and tugging at his jacket, scowling like he was five.

“Showtime,” he muttered quietly to himself, listening to the shuffle of footsteps outside to signal the beginning of Valentine exchange.

Laura grinned, then slipped out of the closet. Scanning the jumble of small bodies and teachers, the woman feigned innocense and approached Stiles after sending a few glances at some of the other teachers, exchanging subtle greetings and winks as they pushed their children along. Grabbing Stiles’ hand, she giggled as he laughed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Passing along a message,” she replied, dragging him away from the crowd.

Settling him against a wall, she turned to the crowd and shouted, “Now!”

The crowd of children and teachers split like the red sea, and inside the closet Derek rose to his feet, dusted off his suit, and let himself out in the the hall. It took him a moment to adjust to the light, but when his vision cleared he was pleased to find Stiles looking utterly perplexed.

“Uh, what?” the man muttered to himself as Derek made his way forward. There were no preliminary words, nothing to indicate what he was doing before the older man dropped to one knee and pulled out a velvet box. It didn’t escape Stiles’ attention that this was where they met; where they’d exchanged silly Valentines because no one else had given them one.

Derek flipped open the box, revealing two gold bands and -- tucked into the top section of the box -- the Valentine that still had Stiles’ terribly handwriting, “STILES” and “DEREK,” scrawled in the appropriate sections. There was the little piece of paper that had been ripped off with the tape, from the lollypop. Derek didn’t say anything; he just remained on one knee looking hopeful.

Stiles bit his lip, suddenly tearing up, and finding himself unable to do anything else he shook his head "Yes" repeatedly. He opened his mouth to try and say something, only to sob happily as Derek stood suddenly and dragged him into a lazy kiss. Stiles pulled away rather quickly, glancing at the crowd of children that were cheering and teasing.

“Keep it chaste, stupid,” he scolded. “These kids are five.”

“I know,” Derek mumbled, placing a small peck on the younger man’s nose. “I love you.”

Stiles grinned. “I love you, too, grumpy. Happy Valentines Day.”

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“It’s ‘Happy Anniversary,’ stupid.”

Stiles rolled his eyes again, then went in for another kiss.


End file.
